Stockholm Syndrome
by ncis.is.the.best
Summary: All hell breaks loose when a body turns up at NCIS HQ, bearing a cryptic warning. The case takes a sickening turn when Ziva is taken hostage by the killer, who seems to believe she is in love with him. And the billion dollar question: is she? TIVA.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own NCIS or the characters.

Well hello. This is a new idea I came up with; you can probably get the gist of the plot from the summary. This is the start, and it is set later in the story, so the next chapter will really be the start. Make sense? I think I'm confusing myself.

Anyway, if you read can you pretty please review, just so I know how many people are interested and if it worth continuing with this idea. Otherwise I'll scrap it.

Leave me some feedback. Thanks.

**

* * *

**

**Stockholm Syndrome:** a psychological response seen in an abducted hostage or prisoner, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty or forms an emotional attachment to their captor, regardless of danger. It is thought that this response is triggered as a survival mechanism, with the belief that the perpetrator will provide better treatment and protection, and stop any intention of harming or killing the hostage.

* * *

Surely not. It was impossible. Completely, totally, and utterly impossible. These kinds of things didn't really happen. It was the stuff of movies, stories, _fiction_. It was that really cool horror movie with the unforeseen twist at the end.

But it _never_ happened in real life.

Except it did.

He just couldn't understand how it could have happened to her. How _anything_ could have happened to her. She was so smart, so well trained. She spent her entire life doing this sort of thing, participating in these kinds of operations.

Where did it all come undone?

No. There was no way.

It couldn't have happened.

Except it did.

* * *

_Tony, _

He stared at the piece of paper in his hands numbly, his eyes tracing over the familiar handwriting. It was like a dream. A trance that he couldn't snap out of. He read the first line aloud, testing the words out, feeling them roll over his tongue.

_I do hope that you are well. _

It was wrong. It wasn't her. He tried it again, adding a slight accent to the words. No. That wasn't it either. Add a coy undertone. Definitely not. He took a breath, moved onto the next line.

_I am very much enjoying myself here. _

Enjoying herself? Unconsciously, he clenched his fists. _Enjoying herself?_ What the hell was going on? Where the hell was the strong woman he used to know?

_Jason is a good man. He treats me well. _

"Dammit!" He swore, bringing his fist down onto the kitchen bench top with a loud bang. "Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. _Dammit!_"

His name brought a sour taste to his mouth and suddenly all he wanted to do was wretch. That bastard. That goddamn bastard.

_I am very happy that he lets me write you these letters. _

Again, the formality caught him off guard. As did the tears that he had been so effectively holding back. They pricked at the back of his lids, threatened to pour out. He blinked twice and swallowed. Not now.

_I would write more, but right now Jason is taking me fishing at the lake. I am very excited. _

At first, he had thought that those details were a clue, a way to find her. But all the details were vague and indecipherable. He'd given up after a while, accepted that she was gone. He eyes fell to the last word on the paper, printed neatly and carefully.

_Goodbye. _

And that was it, the same way she signed every letter. It was so final, so abrupt, as if she knew her fate was sealed.

But that was impossible. She was delusional, living in a fantasy world created by the unsatisfied. She actually believed Jason; she had actually fallen for him. There was no other explanation.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the paper to his face and breathed in, hoping he might catch the faintest whiff of jasmine, any kind of trace that she was still the same person.

There was nothing there.

* * *

A/N: So there you go. Confused. Tell me if you want more. Otherwise I'll pull the story. Thanks for reading.


	2. Tony's Feeling

Disclaimer: As usual.

Well, I'm not completely happy with this, but I gave up after editing it for the fourth time. Hope it's not too bad. Trust me, it'll get better.

Review if you're interested in more. And, as always, feel free to give me any tips or anything. Always looking for ways to improve.

Thanks for reading and please review.

* * *

Before it all happened...

As Tony DiNozzo opened his eyes that morning and reluctantly got up he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong. A nice hot shower will thaw the frost, he told himself, but he barely even noticed the hot water pelting his back. He went about his normal morning rituals, ignoring the pit forming at the bottom of his stomach. Dress, eat, brush teeth, comb hair; they were all things that he did every morning, and yet, it all seemed somehow foreign to him. Pouring himself a cup of hot coffee, he sat down at the table and opened the paper. Numbly, he scanned the headlines, not really taking anything in, drinking scalding hot coffee, but not tasting a thing. And at 0630h, he finally brought himself to get up, take a deep breath, and leave his apartment.

As he turned the corner into the navy yard, he tried to convince himself that he was being ridiculous. He scanned his pass at the gates and nodded a quick hello to the guards, far from his jubilant, cocky self. And he'd stepped into the office feeling much like he'd been run over by a truck. He didn't know why he was letting this affect him so much; he wondered vaguely if this was what a Gibbs gut feeling felt like. He seated himself at his desk; murmuring a small reply to Ziva's greeting, and buried himself in an old file.

"Problems, Tony?" Ziva's voice shattered his thoughts. Trust her to know when something was wrong.

He ran a hand over his face, but didn't meet her gaze. "Nah, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Gee, thanks," He muttered sarcastically.

Ziva just rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying," she said, "fine always seems to be euphemism for something else."

He snapped his head up and scoffed. "Says you. You are the _queen_ of fine."

She raised her hands in an 'I surrender' gesture. "Forget it, DiNozzo." She looked back down at the file she'd been inspecting. "Just forget I said anything."

He left it at that, not able to bring himself to say anything else. They went through the morning in silence, inspecting old case files and running old leads. McGee made a passing comment about the small size of his hard drive, pulling Tony out of his state for a few moments, if only to insult McGee. He meant for the insult to come out as joking banter, but it just sounded biting and harsh, even to his own ears. Ziva, thoroughly sick of his sullen attitude, marched over to his desk and pulled him up by the arm, ignoring his protests. They were behind the stairs that led up to the director's office when she finally let go of his arm and whirled around to face him.

"_What_ is going on?" she demanded.

He tried to side-step her. "I told you: I'm f-"

"Yes, I know," she said, stopping him. "You're _fine_."

Tony sighed. Then, after a few minutes of internal debate: "I have a feeling."

"A feeling?"

"A gut feeling," he clarified.

She furrowed her brow. "Like gas? Are you unwell?"

He shook his head exasperatedly. "No."

Then it dawned on her. "A Gibbs-type gut feeling?"

He nodded.

She tipped her head. "What type of feeling?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Like something's going to go wrong." He could tell she was trying to keep a straight face, but even he could admit that his 'feeling' sounded ridiculous.

She cracked a smile. "I'm sorry, Tony. It just seems a little... silly."

"It does, I know," he conceded, "I just..."

"Tony," she shushed him. "It'll be fine, believe me."

He just smiled and nodded.

And he wanted to believe her, he really did, but it just seemed like when he was talking to her the feeling had gotten worse, increased ten-fold. Like instead of being repeatedly smashed with a hammer, he was now being knee-capped. And that made him wonder absently if perhaps it wasn't himself that he needed to be worrying about. But he swallowed and continued with his work and acted like nothing was wrong.

At 0500h, Gibbs announced that, with no open cases or fresh leads, there was no point them staying any longer. He told them to leave before he changed his mind and all three agents quickly scrambled to grab their things and run to the elevator. And he wondered if perhaps Ziva was right; he _was_ just being silly.

"See, Tony," Ziva began with a small smile as they approached the elevator, "I told you everything would be-"

The elevator dinged. The doors opened.

And lying on the floor of the elevator, legs twisted grotesquely beneath him, one arm reaching for the door, was a brown-haired man, no older than thirty. Tony stepped into the elevator immediately and knelt next to the body, feeling for a pulse, praying for the tell-tale throb of a beating heart.

Nothing.

As McGee held his foot in the door and Ziva knelt down on the other side of the body, Tony gave her a look.

"I had a feeling."

* * *

A/N: Well, thoughts? Review for more.


End file.
